Page 9 of Texting the Wrong Bikers

“Don’t act like you’re not reading over his shoulder too. You want to talk to her.”

Shadow says nothing, which means yes.

I type before I can think too hard about why I care.

I’ll keep you company.

Dash whistles, clapping his hands together. “That’s more like it.”

Her reply makes us all grin.

And risk getting wet coming over?

“My turn!” Trigger yells, snatching the phone out of my hand.

We all know exactly what he’s likely to reply with, and we spring into action, desperately trying to get it off him. Trigger whoops with delight, attracting glances from the rest of the bar as he dances out of our way. My fingers close around his shirt, the fabric tears, but it’s too late.

“Sent,” he says triumphantly, turning the phone around to proudly show us his handywork.

I wouldn’t be the only one…

We collectively groan.

“Well, it could have been worse,” Dash reasons.

“How exactly?” I grunt.

“I could have been more explicit,” Trigger suggests, returning his focus to the screen.

Thankfully, Shadow gets there first. His meaty palm clamps around Trigger’s wrist, steely gray eyes fixing on Trigger’s. Shadow is the only one of us who can get Trigger to back off once he’s becoming reckless. We’ve known each other too long, fighting like brothers instead, but something about Shadow’s stoic presence calms Trigger. Reluctantly, Trigger hands the phone over.

The screen remains blank. “He’s blown it,” Dash grumbles.

But then, three dots appear. Shadow’s bemused expression echoes mine. “She’s typing a reply.”

Chapter 3

Sadie

I’m still grinning when the next message comes through.

I wouldn’t be the only one…

Heat blooms low in my stomach instantly.

“Oh my God,” Dani says, grabbing my arm hard enough to slosh wine across the couch cushion.

“Shut up.”

“No, seriously.” She points dramatically at my phone. “That was hot. That was aggressively hot.”

Rain lashes against the windows outside, harder, thunder rolling through the house, deep and steady. The living room glows warmly beneath the lamplight. The empty wine bottles sit on the coffee table next to Dani’s bangles, lazily scattered across the surface alongside the other jewelry she shed. I told her she was a magpie.

I stare down at the messages again. Tyler has never talked like this before. At the gym, he’s flirty, sure, but in a polished, practiced way. Compliments, lingering touches, and cocky smiles. This feels different somehow. Like whoever’s texting me actually enjoys the conversation instead of just trying to get me naked. Which is ridiculous because obviously he’s trying to get me naked too.

“Hey—” The protest dies on my lips as Dani snatches my phone before I can overthink my reply again.

“You hesitate too much.” Her thumbs fly over the screen. “Men can smell fear.”